


PENTECOST ~ A 'Midsommar' fanfic

by WhileImStillHere



Category: John 5 - Fandom, Marilyn Manson (Band), Midsommar (2019), Nine Inch Nails (Band), Tim Sköld (Musician)
Genre: Anti-Religion, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Blasphemy, Church Sex, Cults, Disturbing Themes, Drug Use, Drugs, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gore, Grooming, Hallucinations, M/M, Manipulation, Medication, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23640220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhileImStillHere/pseuds/WhileImStillHere
Summary: "And thou shalt eat the fruit of thine own body, the flesh of thy sons and of thy daughters..." Deuteronomy 28:53A horrortale.
Relationships: John 5/Tim Sköld, Marilyn Manson/Original Female Character(s), Marilyn Manson/Trent Reznor
Comments: 65
Kudos: 76





	1. Gassed

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This is strictly fanfiction. The original idea for Midsommar was created by the great film director Ari Aster. (Thank you for your work, Ari. It is a blessing.) I do not own anyone or any idea from the film except for my original characters and original additions, original plot/conflict, etc. Basically anything not in the film and any new characters that are not famous names are mine and I claim all rights reserved.  
> If you read the tags, you will know that this is some heavy reading material and may contain elements that could be triggering for some individuals. Never fear! The back button is free and easily accessible if this is not your cup of tea. If you do decide to read, you may not leave a nasty comment about how this triggered you. That is what the tags are for. All hateful comments will be deleted. Gone. Poof! Like they never existed, so think twice before sending because you may be wasting your time.  
> As for those of you who have given me your constant support with anything I write, thank you so much. I appreciate you all and I hope you enjoy this disturbing ride because it is about to get wild. Special dedication goes to Tay, who mentioned the idea that I should write this when, what do ya know, I already was! So great minds think alike.  
> Much love to all of you. Thanks for riding this out with me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Gassed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjdvgW58J3M)

In a small, suburban house, an older couple lie in their bed, eyes shut and mouths hanging open slightly in a state of peaceful rest as the snow gently falls outside their bedroom window. The familiar beep resonates from the other end of the receiver on their home phone.

“ _Hi, Mom, hey Dad, it’s… Trent. Sorry for calling so late. I’m just checking to make sure everyone’s okay. I’m calling about… Chris again. It really seems like he’s having a hard time, and he’s sent me this message on chat that I can’t really decipher, so I’m just wondering if there’s been some sort of conflict between the both of you and him? Call me back once you get this. I just want you to know that I’m here for you both. Okay… All right… I love you_.”

Trent’s hands hover over the keyboard, right hand shaking just the tiniest bit while he decides whether or not to simply press send and be done with it. He has tried plenty of other replies prior, but having still received no answer, he wonders if this one will make any and all the difference. He regrets glancing at the first message from his half brother.

**Dear Trent,**

**I can’t anymore.. Everything’s black. Mom and Dad are coming too. Goodbye.**

Trent’s heart thuds as he glosses over it for the thousandth time tonight. His eyes dart over every word as if the hidden meaning will somehow spring itself out at him, and he will have his answer and it will be a satisfying one and he can actually get some sleep. The clock on his phone says ‘12:05AM’. Pursing his lips, Trent swallows the evident lump in his throat, minimizes the screen on his computer, and grasps his phone, wildly scrolling through his contacts. Mom and Dad are asleep. He knows that, so another number rings through his mind, and he presses the call button without stopping to think if even that is a good idea. Too late now. Trent swallows again as he listens to it ring.

It takes four rings and Trent tapping his foot impatiently while he hugs himself before he hears him pick up. The familiar droning voice, thick and masculine as gravel interjects from the ear piece.

_“Hey.”_

Trent instantly leaps from his seat at his computer and sinks into the relief of hearing Brian’s voice break through the receiver, and he forces a smile just so it can hide the obvious trembling in his voice. “Hey. Babe. What are you doing right now?”

Brian sounds stiffly pleasant and resigned, something Trent quickly brushes under the rug and refuses to worry about at the moment. _“Oh, uh, me and the guys just finished smoking a bowl and now we’re grabbing pizza at one of the meal halls,”_ he says and Trent hears a bustling on the other end.

_“Hi Trent, hi Trent, hi Trent…”_

_“Okay. Jeordie says hi.”_ Even the laugh is stiff, and Trent manages one as well, a short, breathy chuckle and keeping the smile forced. Deep down, he knows he never really liked Jeordie, but the guy is one of his boyfriend’s best friends. In the end, he had decided not to mention his thoughts and feelings about it to Brian and incur more tension in their already tight relationship. Jeordie is high maintenance and odious and directs all that negativity on Trent, but the latter keeps it inside, knowing his lack of favor for him remains on a neutral stance. The guy actually despises him too.

“Hi, Jeordie,” Trent says knowingly, hoping it sounds like he is smiling. Trying to keep things light. He hears Brian respond in kind back to Jeordie and chuckles lightly. “Sounds like you all are having fun.”

 _“Yeah,”_ Brian responds flatly. Silence. Then, _“How’s the Chris situation?”_

Trent’s face falls, and the lump in his throat returns, much harder to swallow this time. It takes him a good few seconds to come up with something that won’t distress Brian. Obviously, he doesn’t wish to drag him through his bullshit. All of this is bullshit, but he asked, so Trent figures that has to count for some sort of concern on his part. When he replies, he tries in vain to sound still and calm, grounded, but even then, his voice comes out shaky and vulnerable, a trait of his that he wishes he has control over.

“Um…” he begins, quivering, “I don’t know at this point. I’ve tried everything to get his attention, but I’m still getting silence. I can’t deny that it’s stressing me out, you know?”

A few seconds pass, and Trent hears a noncommittal grunt from Brian on the other end, almost as resigned as before. _“Well, you do know this is Chris, right?”_ Trent isn’t sure where Brian is going with this, and he isn’t sure he likes the sudden dismissive tone. _“I mean, you know how he gets. The on again off again and keeping you on the fence with these tactics he throws at you. And you react this way every time he does this, Trent. It’s his thing.”_

Trent’s brows furrow in confusion, head cocked to the side as he adjusts the position of his phone against his ear. “What ‘thing’, Brian? My brother’s bipolar, I mean-”

 _“All I’m saying is you’ve done all you can, you know?”_ Brian cuts in evenly, and Trent can already tell that he longs for the conversation to be over. His frown deepens. The feeling is mutual. _“He’ll come around again like he always does, and you just have to pick up the pieces. And I don’t want you to do that, Trent, is what I am trying to say. Because this keeps happening. He does this every other day, and you let him.”_

“I don’t _let_ him, I-”

 _“Yeah, but you_ do _, babe. That’s just it, and it sends you spiraling, okay? Like you get into crisis mode.”_

Taking a deep breath, Trent nods silently, forgetting he is on the phone with him for a moment. It is easier to give up explaining his feelings at this point right now and better just to give in to Brian. Long ago, he’s already accepted that he is the reasonable one anyway, carefree. Sometimes Trent wishes he was more like him. A block of icy silence weighs in between the two of them, and he races to quickly dissipate the tension. It’s unnecessary; he knows that. “No you’re right.” Trent nods again as if he believes it fully himself. “You’re right.” The smile comes forced again, almost dreamy, like he’s trying to find that spark that they used to have when they talked, hung around each other, anything and everything. “I’m happy I have you to help me clear my head. I’m so lucky to have you. Thank you.”

He hears a soft hum in kind. Still resigned. Perhaps he’s gotten nowhere in this. Trent’s smile just starts to fade until a thought races through his mind and he pipes up, “Are we still on for doing something tonight?”

It’s as though he can vividly see Brian shift uncomfortably in his seat, probably mid bite of pizza and glancing around at the rest of his group, wondering why the hell Trent hadn’t just fucking hung up and gone the fuck to sleep. _“Oh. I, uh, didn’t know we planned something for tonight?”_

“Oh,” Trent repeats with the same stiff tone as though a taut rope has somehow managed to wind its way around his neck and yank tight. “Not exactly but if you still wanted to, I mean.” Play it off with disinterest. Perhaps he’ll come around. Please. Anything to keep his mind off of this. Trent’s thoughts scurry like mice in his brain, and he waits, wondering if he should hold his breath while anticipating Brian’s answer.

_“Ah, you know what? Can I give you a rein check for sometime tomorrow? It’s just that Jeordie is already more than half-baked, and John is looking pretty exhausted as it is. You know he had his last final today.”_

Trent feels the corners of his mouth get heavier, the kind of heavy before he’s about to cry and make a face that looks like he’s about to cry. He can’t help it. He can’t help that it seems like Brian is sort of pushing him away, as gently as he can, blowing him off really. He shakes his head, relieved he won’t see him like this just because he simply does not wish to hang out with him tonight. Again. Trent puts on a smile again, but it probably looks ridiculous with his watery eyes and lopsided, forced grin. He prays that it helps to mask the sound of his voice cracking and breaking, even if only slightly.

“No, no, that’s fine,” he says. “Tell him I say congrats and I hope he can finally get those nine hours.”

Brian chuckles on the other end, but there is no emotion to it. _“I’ll be sure to relay the message.”_

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s a pause, but Trent chooses to ignore it. _“Yep.”_

“Okay. I love you.” Somehow he feels he has to hold his breath when he says it. Brian breathes for him though, breathes in, slow, pressing, a heavy inhale followed by something of a mentally exhausted exhale.

_“I love you too.”_

Somehow those four little words just ring like any other normal statement, and when Trent hangs up after him, he is left with more uncertainty than when he began.

“I thought he’d never get off the phone.” Jeordie gives a loud curse and slumps forward in his seat, pupils blown, voice slurred only slightly. When Jeordie gets hammered, Jeordie gets mouthy. “I mean, what was it this time?”

“It’s his brother again,” Brian says, sounding more concerned than he thought he’d be, and sets the phone facedown on the table. He always does that to make it clear to himself and everyone around him that he does not feel like being bothered. “And this time it sounds pretty serious, I don’t know.”

“Really?” John chimes in sympathetically, leaning forward for another slice. “How is Trent doing in spite of that? Must be a wreck.”

Brian sighs deeply. “I couldn’t tell you. I never know what goes on in his head anymore.”

“And that’s his fault, isn’t it?” Jeordie interjects. “We all know Trent preaches the need for communication at you, but when was the last time he actually told you what he really felt? The guy constantly looks like a deer caught in the headlights as if every little thing you do bothers him somehow.”

“He is going through a lot right now,” Brian mumbles a little defensively. Even he knows Jeordie will push the buttons until he makes his point. “And I’m almost certain Chris is due for another breakdown at some point.”

“Was he ever hospitalized?” Tim, on John’s right at the table, takes a long drag from his cigarette, attempting remain as neutral as possible it seems.

“No,” Jeordie’s voice has risen slightly just a few notches, and everyone knows that this is the moment when he attempts to take charge. “No, shut up, Tim. That isn’t the point. This is about you and Trent, Brian. You’ve wanted out of this stupid relationship for months.”

There he finally says it, and Brian really cannot deny it. Countless times since the last spectacle where Trent went running back to Chris again left a strain in their history. Brian’s run out of things to talk about with Trent that aren’t about his issues, all family, with their religious tension, mental, and brother related. Even if he wanted to talk to him, and if he’s honest, most of the time he doesn’t, he wouldn’t really know what to say anymore that hasn’t already been said. Trent has attempted to get as close as he possibly can to him, which means he knows that something is on the horizon that could most definitely leave him feeling more crushed and vulnerable than he already is. He is too close, though. And Jeordie is right. He wants out. Things just aren’t as they used to be anymore.

But Jeordie isn’t finished yet apparently. “Plus, it’s hard enough keeping a relationship like this when the other person doesn’t even like sex anymore.”

“That kind of surprised me,” John says. “Remember his project on various styles of performance art? Trent studied Abramovic religiously. Even had a few of his own projects and ideas on the side. He was so outspoken and forwardly blunt with it too. It would have been the talk of campus had it made it past his professors. Now he dropped those classes. It’s like he’s a completely different person. More reserved. Shy. I can’t really remember the last time we talked.”

“It was that one call from Chris months ago,” Brian finally cuts in, “and now-”

“Now he can’t survive without calling you like every other day,” Jeordie says and he almost sounds bitter for Brian. “Isn’t that what a therapist is for?”

Brian’s back to being defensive. “Well, he _has_ a therapist.”

“Then he should talk to them. They certainly get paid enough.” Jeordie slumps back in his seat, takes a long sip of his beer. Brian does the same.

Trent presses his phone to his other ear, and his voice continues to break. “I don’t know, Robin,” he sniffs, finds himself pacing the room. Back and forth, back and forth. The computer screen still glares white at him. “It’s not like I’m assertive enough to just tell him my worries about this, you know? I already complain to him enough as it is.”

_“Then you suck it up, and pretend everything is okay. But you and I both know how internalizing things affects you. Especially with Brian. You have to just tell him what’s bothering you. That his dismissive behavior is bothering you.”_

Trent is only half-listening. He’s looking through the bathroom cabinets, opens the mirror-facing hutch and snatches the small bottle of Ativan. “I feel like I’m putting him in a corner. Only taking him out when I really need him, and he’s getting tired of it. He’s getting tired of me.”

_“He can’t keep you feeling this way. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to communicate with him, or one of you is going to snap. And it won’t be pretty.”_

This time, Trent really isn’t listening anymore because his phone buzzes abruptly, indicating another caller. He pulls it away from his ear, somewhat irritated, and reads who it could possibly be this late at night.

It only says ‘UNKNOWN’.

“I can take that for you if you’d like.” The girl offers a small smile reaching for his cup and plate, and for a moment, Brian is dazzled by her smile, only able to make room so that she isn’t carrying everything at once. She giggles when he almost knocks Jeordie’s drink over, a fumbled attempt to assist her, and flashes one last grin at him before walking away. Everyone, including him, notices the full body check until she turns around.

Jeordie throws up his hands in exasperation, waits until she is completely out of earshot, and then says in a more hushed tone, “You see that? Dude, she was totally checking you out. You could literally be grabbing her number and banging her by the dumpsters by now. You can practically bag any bitch at this fucking school.”

“And don’t forget all the girls and guys you’ll meet during our road trip through the states,” Tim smiles evenly, taking another drag.

“Thank you,” Jeordie stresses, as if that proves his point.

Before Brian can even form his input, his phone vibrates, buzzing towards the corner end of their table. Gingerly, he flips it over, eyebrows furrowed, but Jeordie speaks for him this time more than a little irritated, his voice hinted with incredulous disgust.

“God, that is _not_ him again, is it? Jesus Christ.”

Brian mumbles under his breath, gets up from his seat reluctantly, “Give me just a second, guys.” Jeordie curses again, but he chooses to ignore it, including the concerned look from John. Something tells him he better answer this, despite the voice in his head telling him, screaming at him not to. They are right; he is not Trent’s therapist. Perhaps it is wrong for him to string him along like this, looking for an outlet to eventually put him down gently. But, goddamn it, he is tired of being picked apart by his own boyfriend. So damn tired.

The phone still buzzes.

Just answer it.

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” Brian finally breathes, and he hopes his voice sounds gentle, understanding.

What sound reaches his ear makes his blood run cold. At first, it hardly sounds human, like a wounded animal, a mixture of a long, distorted wail and the only coherent word of human speech that Brian can make out. No. He recognizes Trent’s voice instantly, the pained, anguished bellow from the receiver, and he is almost certain the guys hear it as well. Trent drags out the word pathetically, long and loud, his purpose unknown and finding no relief whatsoever. Brian stiffens, face falling, fear flooding his veins as his ears and neck go from hot to cold. “Trent… what’s wrong? Babe…”

_“No, no, no, no, no, no…”_

His pleas, intelligible now, end in broken cries, barely consolable as Brian begins to beg.

“What’s happening baby? Sweetheart… please tell me what’s going on.”

Red and blue lights flicker against every window of the house, flooding each dark room in the flashing, ominous color, the only color that expands into the blackest void of the longest night of their lives. The garage door rises slowly, and firefighters stride in with protective masks on as carbon monoxide gas floods out into the cold, arid air, intermingling with the innocent snowflakes that cascade from a bleak night sky. More gas expands from the exhaust pipe covered in tape and attached to a garden hose, and one of them approaches one car, opens the door, and turns the key in the ignition, shutting the engine off for good. The other car turns off easy enough as well, but heavy black boots follow the other garden hose attached to its exhaust pipe as it leads them to the door to inside.

Inside one hose leads to a bedroom where more duct tape encompasses it, trapping the gas on the other side. It is nothing to open the door, kicking the hose to the side, but the view from within is bleak. Inside a house, roof now covered in snow, two bodies in a permanent state of rest are removed from their beds, their faces forever marked in a frozen expression of suffocation as they are zipped up in sleek, black body bags and taken away to the ambulance wailing outside. The other garden hose leads to another bedroom, and this time the door is open, the light is on, and the scene is far more horrifying than the fate of those before.

Chris lies propped against the leg of his desk chair, the hose protruding from his open mouth and duct tape hastily applied there to remain. His eyes are wide, glassy, glazed over in a hazy state of shock from the fumes and anguish in death. Bits of vomit fleck around his cheeks, crust under his nose, and in his lifeless hand is a necklace chain, the medallion clamped between his fingers as he holds on for dear life forever. Above him on his desk, his laptop is open, the screen bright and revealing a messaging system in abandonment.

There are three unanswered messages from Trent.

Brian finally makes it to Trent’s building, lips, nose, and cheeks frostbitten from the bitter cold, but as the familiar brick apartment comes into view, his pace slows just slightly, uncertainty clouding his vision, hesitation stilling his step up the stairs to where his boyfriend lives. He does not know why he would stop now, but something else stirs within him, more than discomfort, or hesitation or uncertainty. He cannot place it, but he almost dreads climbing those stairs, opening the door, and awaiting what could be there on the other side. Now he knows he cannot break the bond; he can’t just walk away for good like their relationship didn’t mean something for the last three or four years. In fact, he does not know when he would ever be able to get his chance.

The building is warm when he ventures inside, but it’s hardly comfortable and feels more like a furnace, blazing hot, searing metal. Trent’s door is unlocked, and Brian grips the handle like an anchor, worried about what he may find on the other side. He breathes his name upon opening and spots Trent in the kitchen area, huddled in an immobile lifeless heap just like his brother against the granite island. Broken dishes lay scattered about him in hundreds upon thousands of dangerous little shards that could slice his neck, rip open a vein, and Brian realizes that the whole kitchen lies decimated among the shards of porcelain and glass, cabinets open and trashed.

“Trent- Trent, where are the knives?” He’s frantic, opening drawers, rummaging through each of their contents already in a state of disarray. Trent doesn’t answer, refuses to, but Brian calls his name once more, repeats it incessantly, kneels by his side to lift his face in his hands and finally assess the damage. Trent’s countenance is pallid, tear-washed, and stains from his tears, dried over, mingle with the sudden overflow of hot tears that come racing down. Brian stares into those eyes, red and bloodshot, thumbs away another tear, notices the blank stare he’s given in return. “Please, baby, where are the knives?”

“Didn’t touch them,” Trent finally mumbles, voice wet and nasally. He lets his head simply fall forward against his chest, not high, not drunk, not inebriated in any way; his body has merely given up basic function, all strength leaving him in one heaving breath.

“No, no, no, baby,” Brian urges, the panic rising in his voice. “Stay with me. Did you take anything?”

Trent barely shakes his head, and Brian almost breathes a sigh of relief, but he is still not as convinced as he would like to be.

“Sweetie, please talk to me.” He grabs his hands, gasps and pulls away at the wet, sticky sensation that makes contact. Please, no. Brian does not want to look down, does not want to open Trent’s hands and see the horror he assumes will be there in a jagged, bloody mess, but when he finally does, he inhales, hardly relief, but the original assumption is gone. Both of Trent’s palms are cut, not too deep but blood flows freely. “Did you do this to yourself?”

Again Trent shakes his head. “Tried to clean up…”

Hastily, Brian gets to his feet and grabs a towel. The only bit of human life and warmth Trent offers is the soft hitch and hiss in pain from his breath when he presses the towel between his hands. Then he feels Brian’s arms go around him and instantly stiffens. “All right, baby. Time to get up.”

“No…” Trent sobs out, much louder this time. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Please, honey. Please, come on. With me.” Counting to three aloud, he hoists Trent up from under his armpits despite his pleading sobs. His whole body goes limp, and Brian stumbles with him, holding him close, close enough to feel the ever rapid pounding of his heart. Trent’s face is buried in his chest, and that is when his wails and cries increase in volume, resonating in a horrifying display of a painful cacophony about the apartment as his boyfriend struggles to half drag, half carry him toward the couch. He can hardly get his feet to carry his weight with him, and when Brian eventually sits down, pulling him with him, he collapses into his lap, face buried against the tops of his thighs, muffling his endless sobs.

Trent crumbles there in his anguish and sorrow, fists grasping the fabric of his pants, head shaking violently and wildly in his tears. With despair so profound, he sounds agonizingly intense and dangerous to Brian, like he could end the world with his pained bellows, shatter it to pieces like the broken dishes just in the other room. Something has awakened with him, something that has ultimately changed him forever.

Brian combs his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair tenderly, ever so gently, as though he is afraid he will break him, snap him in two with the wrong touch. This is the moment he knows that changes everything, that nothing will ever be the same ever again. Eyes wide with worry, Brian feels Trent tremble in his lap, leans forward and kisses his shoulder hesitantly, uncertainly, presses his forehead into his back with urgings of sweet nothings and comforting whispers and shushes. Nothing consoles Trent, and in this moment, Brian sees the future flash before his eyes, a future where he is chained to, trapped with Trent.

When he stood on those steps before his apartment building, under the bleak, black night and bitter cold from the falling snow, that feeling, the one he couldn’t name and place, returns to him sharply like a shard of ice entering his heart and making him shiver violently. It is fear.


	2. Yes or No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like writing this chapter took forever but since this extremely hard week, I am happy that I managed to pull myself together and be productive.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The sun shines brightly through the window pane, and it doesn’t seem fitting for Trent, who lies curled in a fetal position on his bed, mindlessly listening to the birds chirp outside and envying their gaiety. The year came and went as did the bitter memories of that awful night, leaving behind only a numbing calm that seemed to have changed Trent forever. And he knows that they know, that they silently wonder why he never smiles anymore, why they hardly ever see him buckle with laughter anymore as he used to do. What is there to laugh at. He is alone now. Alone with nothing but the medallion cross of his brother’s.

Trent clutches it, thinking that that must have been the way it was held for the final time by Chris that cold night. Fastened in his fist as if fused to his skin. How they must have pried it away from his grip, from his cold, dead fingers.

Trent brushes the thought aside. It’s ugly and only leaves a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, coiling in his guts, making him nauseous. The same feeling that sent him to bed in the first place. He glances down at the medallion. Religion is a crutch. He always thought that, still thinks so even now, a crutch and a flimsy shield to hide the wickedness of man, the secret evil dealings in the dark. But holding the cross close to his heart, he almost finds it a comfort, that Chris, his parents are somehow still with him even now. That something like heaven can possibly exist.

The door to his room opens, and he stuffs the medallion back under his shirt, turns, and sees Brian standing there, dressed and ready to go out. Trent somehow knows that Brian would never understand why he would keep it in the first place.

“Hey, baby,” he says gently. “Sleep some?”

“Hardly,” Trent murmurs, turning fully to face him. “Are you going out?”

For a brief second, Brian looks as though he’s wondering what to say next, how to break it to Trent. “Just to the party for like a half hour and then I’m coming back up. But I’ll let you get back to sleep.” He almost hastily tries to shut the door again as if desperate to leave, find comforts somewhere else. Anywhere but here. With Trent and his misery.

“No, no, no,” Trent says, ignoring it and sitting up. “I’m up.” Silence. “I’ll come with you if that’s all right.”

There’s another long pause, and Brian looks uncertain. It flashes briefly behind his eyes mixed with some other emotion Trent can’t quite place, but he doesn’t want to wait and find out. He’s just about to rescind his offer when Brian softly huffs out, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I could use a night out to be honest.”

“Okay.”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

As soon as Trent and Brian walk through the door, Brian is immediately greeted by Tim, John, and Jeordie with some girl with wild blonde hair that Trent barely recognizes from last semester hanging off of Jeordie’s arm. When he does remember, he mentally wilts at the vague yet harsh, irritating memory. Not only had she managed to push his limits and make him extremely uncomfortable that semester with what could have been considered borderline stalking, he always knew that she was after Brian. If getting with the likes of Jeordie is going to make her think she can get closer to him, Trent decides he doesn’t wish to stay any longer and feels about as small as a mouse as soon as her imposing eyes bore into his with something of an inebriated sneer. Trent already feels as though he could vomit if he stares long enough. Perfect.

“Brian!”

He hears her voice, but he’s no longer looking at her, clutching his boyfriend’s arm entwined with his a little tighter than normal. Brian is oblivious, wrenching himself of Trent’s grip and allowing her to give him a stumbling side hug while she holds her beer.

She addresses him.

“Didn’t think you’d come.” Her voice sounds thick, words slurred in an almost slow drone with something else hidden underneath the fog. Trent recognizes disdain. “…not since-”

“Trent!” John’s voice breaks through before she says something everyone knows she will regret. He squeezes past Tim and Jeordie with a wide, eager smile, a little too safe and a little too eager, but Trent silently thanks him with a weak smile of his own as he makes his way toward him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Glad you decided to make it! Let’s get you a beer, huh?” Good ol’ John. John is the best.

Trent practically melts into him, grateful of the pleasant company in a place with too many overstimulating sounds and smells. The pounding bass throbs in his ears, melting his brain like magma, and the lights are dim with colors flashing in and out, far too random for him to keep up. Perhaps comprehending his growing distress, John gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze, only letting go once they arrive to the coolers of beer and where someone is also pouring mixed drinks. Trent’s eyes wander to it, and John’s follow as he fishes around for a beer in the ice. He forgot to take his meds, he realizes, so maybe something heavier wouldn’t hurt. John’s soft laughter snaps him out of it.

“Want something a little harder?”

Quickly shaking his head, Trent reaches for the beer he holds out to him, pops the cap, and takes a long sip. “You?”

“Oh, you know me.” John’s grin softens as he holds up his cup of water.

“Why is she here?” Trent says it before he can stop himself, abrupt, almost whiny, and he immediately wishes he could take back his words. Fucking embarrassing, he mentally kicks himself.

“She’s friends with a lot of people, Trent,” John says matter-of-factly, wetting his lips. “And as you can see, she is with Jeordie, so why wouldn’t she be?” Of course, John isn’t one to argue about anything, nor is he one to slander others behind their back. John, the angel. John, the saint. Maybe a year ago, Trent knew him a little better, but tonight it seems as if it all is coming back to him full throttle, and it throws him gently more at ease, a zen-like presence with a voice like butter and a reassuring smile. Trent has since forgotten the last time Brian ever gave him a smile like that. So this small moment with John feels like a bubble forming within, slowly heating up and swelling bigger and bigger as he starts to relax more and more.

“I’m going to head back to the other guys. You coming?”

The bubble bursts.

Trent mindlessly stares ahead, a picture of misery while the rest of them drone on and on. He doesn’t know what they are talking about, and he doesn’t really care. Occasionally he sips his beer, acknowledges any slight indication of his presence in the circle, and then retreats back into the hazy, dream-like state that brings a film of numbness in his ears and in his chest. The sounds of laughter and chatter become almost a blur now, and he slowly blinks, letting his mind think that it is, wondering how long he can keep it that way before-

“So you have to work once we all get back from our trip, Jeordie?” Tim’s voice fades in as if on cue, and Trent’s ears instantly perk up in curiosity. Sensing this change, Brian starts to look a little nervous and glances at Jeordie, who seems far too out of it to even care.

“Oh?” _Her_ grating voice pops up out of nowhere as she links arms with her new, and obviously not improved, dopey boyfriend. “You guys heading out somewhere for the summer?”

“It’s gonna be a road trip through the whole country!” John pipes up, apparently the most excited out of all of them.

“With an occasional stop or two in the midwest region for my thesis on major religion,” Tim says nonchalantly, taking a sip of his beer. “It’ll be-”

“Hardly the fun part,” Jeordie rolls his eyes and teases. “The fun part is the clubs and sites of the states. Especially the clubs.”

This is extremely new for Trent, and a whisper of resentment swells in his mind, wondering why it took him so long to find this out for himself, why he was never told in the first place. Why his own boyfriend failed to mention _something_ , the glimmer of a detail or two _at least_. He brushes it to the side for now and looks up with the hint of a hopeful, curious smile on his face. “Oh yeah?” The hopefulness spreads to his voice as he looks from Tim to Brian, whose panic remains even more evident on his face. He manages to hide it, though, with an overly casualness in his voice.

Stuffing his hands deep in his pockets and shuffling awkwardly from side to side, Brian says in a resigned sort of way, “I mean, yeah, we were thinking about it. We were talking about it, sure.”

“For when?”

Tim obviously misses the pained, begging look from Brian when he automatically replies, “Mid May to late June?”

“In two weeks.”

Brian coughs once, and all eyes return to him, including Trent quizzically. “I mean, if we even go.” John raises an eyebrow, Tim stares blankly, blinks twice, and then takes another sip of his beer, and Jeordie sways uncertainly with his girlfriend. “I probably won’t. We were just _talking_ about it.”

If Brian had expected Trent to miss the emphasis in his voice towards the other guys, Trent doesn’t and stares up at his boyfriend with even more bewilderment etched in his face than before. When Brian fails to meet his gaze, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach returns, and Trent suddenly remembers why he had wanted to leave early in the first place. The tension rises and doesn’t leave even during the short drive home that feels more like a millennia with Trent’s pestering thoughts and worries building up one by one in a single file, continuous line.

The tension remains once back at the apartment with hardly a word said between the two of them. Brian slides past Trent easily, heads to his laptop, and Trent just catches a whiff of his cologne, a scent that almost comforts him. He wishes it still did and then silently chastises himself for the thought alone. He knows if he says something now, now when Brian assumes, longs for peace, it could start a fight, just like the last one and the last one. He must look like a deer caught in the headlights, desperately waiting for safety or to be run over once and for all because he hears Brian’s voice break through the chilling silence.

“Are you all right?”

Trent is hesitant when he glances up, fidgety, anxious, and Brian waits, but his patience only travels so far, and Trent feels it. Finally he says, “Sure. Yeah, I’m fine. That was just… really weird.”

“What was?” Brian’s turned to face him in the seat, giving that look that’s waiting for the fight, the look that asks him if he really wants to do this now. Trent throws a look right back at him as if it isn’t obvious.

“The road trip!” he blurts out and remembers his calm voice. “I had no idea.”

“What do you mean? I told you I wanted to go and that was that. That was all, Trent.” Already he starts getting defensive, as if Trent is really the only one throwing punches here.

He scoffs, crosses his arms, which is the most and worst defensive position he can ever take. “Obviously it wasn’t all, Brian, because I didn’t know you actually were going.”

“Well, I just decided today.” That’s a safe answer. Smooth. “I wasn’t keeping it from you. And I know you think I would because you do this all the time, Trent. Drawing up these wild conclusions that make you worry yourself sick.”

Somehow Trent doesn’t think Brian says that because he suddenly cares. Shoving yet another poisonous thought under the rug, he shoots back, “Apparently, you’re already going. You guys have a date set and everything.”

Then, to Trent’s added fury, Brian shrugs, a simple up and down of his shoulders, looks him dead in the eye, and huffs out, “I’m sorry.”

Trent feels himself losing him fast, remembers this happening once before. Brian retreating into himself with the cold shoulder and the victim complex as though he is nothing more than an animal cornered and nagged at by a frustrating boyfriend. They are fighting now, something Trent had resented and worried would happen no matter how soft he keeps his voice, how many times he tries to explain his feelings. The walls are set, and Trent immediately attempts one last thing before he explodes. “Okay, so imagine if we were at a party and someone asks ‘hey, Trent, what are you doing this summer’ and _my_ friends say ‘oh, we’re all going to London for three months and we’re leaving in two weeks’-”

“Literally across the country. A month and a half.”

“-and that was the first time you had ever heard of it!”

Brian stands, content more to argue than to listen anymore. “Look, Trent, I told you I wanted to go, and now I’m taking the opportunity to do it so-”

“I have no problem with you going. I just wish you would have thought to tell me!”

Still looking cornered like a cat, Brian mumbles, “I just apologized to you, Trent.”

“You didn’t apologize. You said ‘sorry’, which sounds more like ‘oh well, too bad’.”

There it is. Brian isn’t looking at him anymore, but Trent sees the way his eyes shift, less defensive and more distant. Cold. Chilled ice unable to be thawed. He’s ready to slam the door to this fight and lock it forever. Lock him out. “Whatever.” He almost spits it out. Venomously. “I’m going home.” Brian turns on his heel to leave, and Trent’s heart thumps once, desperate to shift the mood, make things better, make him understand, if not his side then the situation at least.

“Brian, I’m not trying to attack you. I’m just trying to understand.” Now he sounds more than paranoid. He sounds panicked, as panicked as Brian had looked back at the party. The latter stops and turns, but his eyes haven’t softened even in the slightest.

“Well, it feels like you are attacking me, and I really can’t deal with that right now.”

Trent tries his last resort, but he feels the lump in his throat forming, growing bigger and bigger. He will _not_ cry over this. No fucking way. “I’m sorry!” he pleads. “I am, I promise. I’m just really confused over all this.” Taking Brian’s hands in his, he tries to beckon him to the couch, flinching and drawing back when Brian wrenches himself free, murmuring ‘stop’ in an irritated tone. “Can you just… come sit with me? Please?”

Reluctantly, Brian does so after a moment and a wary look, lips pressed tightly together in a thin, grim line. When Trent places a hand on his arm, his shoulders hitch up as if he’s been bitten by a spider. Trent removes his hand and places it helplessly in his own lap. He tries again.

“I’m sorry. I really am. This was just so weird. That’s all. I really do think that this trip will be a great thing for you and the guys. It sounds amazing and inspiring, especially since you’re going for your thesis?”

Brian stiffens, grumbles out, “Tim is going for his thesis. I have no know idea what mine is yet.” He stops, and the ice returns instantaneously as he adds, “I think I’m just gonna leave.”

The lump in Trent’s throat has finally gotten as big as a golf ball, and the tears well in his eyes as the couch shifts stiffly, as stiff as Brian’s shoulders and spine when he touched him. Brian will go and leave a hole in the night, in the conversation, in their fight, and Trent will be left with in an even larger hole in his heart, knowing that he failed once again in their relationship, got too crazy for him. So the words spill out then and there, faster, like word vomit, too much for even him to keep up with. His voice sounds thick and nasally as he struggles to swallow his tears, but Brian hears it.

“Please. I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t mean to act so crazy. I’m just confused, Brian, and I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

He hears the stuffy, nasally whine that manages to escape even if it hadn’t meant to. Like the tipping of a teapot, one drop, and it will all come crashing down in a useless heap of misery and flooding emotions. Brian turns just before he sees Trent start to break, his face crumbling with his voice. He does not cry though, only begins to hold it back as he chokes back a sob, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. His heart used to melt at the sight of Trent’s distress, and now it only thumps once, and his stomach coils in knots at the pitifully pathetic display. He can’t willfully be the asshole, not now, not when his boyfriend is still emotionally broken, traumatized, unsure of himself and of everything. Not when he has gotten worse. Brian swears he can feel the chain tighten as he instantly returns to the couch to wrap an arm around the shoulders of his trembling boyfriend.

“No, shh…” he hears himself murmur into his hair. “It’s okay, I promise. It’s okay. All right?” Sniffles are his response and nothing more, and Brian knows he has to try harder, even if the coils in his stomach automatically tighten at the thought alone. His voice is uncertain as he says, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me, Trent.”

Trent stops, turns, and Brian sees his eyes are red and wary. He’s searching for some catch to this, disbelieving everything in Brian’s voice, in his words. After the tense pause, he scrunches his nose and mumbles, “You don’t want me to.”

“I just asked you.” Brian puts emphasis in those words, and feels the back of his neck get warmer.

“Because I’m obviously upset and paranoid!”

“Come on, Trent.” Now Brian sounds almost pleading but in the way that tells him he desperately wants this conversation to be over. Trent feels his arms go around him, hesitantly at first, and he hopes that he doesn’t feel him stiffen. “You kind of ruined the surprise.”

“It was supposed to be a surprise?”

With a soft kiss to his cheek, Brian saves it with one final statement that sounds too much like a question as well. “I wanted it to be romantic?”

Tim’s apartment looks like some place Fitzgerald and Hemingway would have collaborated in with Bukowski casually slouching in the corner, smoking the fattest blunt in one hand and downing vermouth in the other. Jeordie however, slumps down further than usual and takes another heavy drag. John sits out the other side of the couch engrossed in his sketchpad, and Tim sits in his own chair, nose stuck in a book with his laptop on his thighs.

“So tell me, Jeordie,” he muses aloud, and Brian glances up from his phone, looking between the both of them. Any amount of drama that comes from that particular tone is enough to distract him from who would eventually be climbing those stairs and walking through the door any minute now. “Is this new squeeze crawling out of my apartment at ungodly hours in the morning going to be a thing or…?”

Immediately, Jeordie lowers his blunt and gives Tim a sleepy look like “are we really doing this now?” before throwing up his hands in defense. “Her car’s in the shop right now. I needed to get up too just to take her home.”

“Huh.” Tim’s attention returns to his studies, but Jeordie’s stare grows icy, and he looks like he is about to retort back, ready for an argument when Brian’s phone buzzes. Brian doesn’t know whether to be relieved or even more tense than he already is.

He finally manages with, “Hey guys, it’s Trent… He’s coming up.”

Disinterested, Jeordie huffs out, “Okay” and takes a longer drag, puffing smoke about the room and adding to the foggy disposition that unfortunately is Tim’s apartment.

“Uh,” Tim eyes Jeordie slightly before gesturing noncommittally. “Should we clear all this?”

Jeordie looks ready to flick the remainder of his blunt at him, but Brian calmly intervenes with, “No, it doesn’t matter. He’s cool with it but… uh, listen.” He’s already risen from his seat and strides to the door, feeling partially cornered from the potential reactions he could receive and also trying to distance himself from the rest of them as much as possible. “Just so you guys know, he’s not going to actually come, but I invited him on the trip. Just so it wouldn’t be weird.”

The silence seems deafening to him as his friends look between each other and back to him. Brian rakes his long fingers through his dark hair and waits, his other hand hanging uselessly, helplessly at his side. Jeordie speaks up first.

“So… you invited him?”

“Yeah, but he’s not coming.”

“He doesn’t want to or…” This time Tim cuts in, and Brian almost wishes he hadn’t. In another mind entirely, Brian would have known he’s spouting bullshit, but begrudgingly he knows that Tim can smell it on him from a mile away. John says nothing but looks up with a casual expression on his face. Brian longs for him to actually back him up, but that isn’t John’s way. In that relationship, Tim does all the talking, and John prefers it. Fucking zen master. Brian tries again.

“No,” Brian corrects him, hoping the pleas in his voice don’t stand out. “I ‘invited’ him and he ‘accepted’, but he’s not going to actually come.”

More silence. As if it isn’t obvious enough that he’s searching for their approval, and looking to blame them as well at Trent’s expense. Every single individual in the room knows how badly Brian wants out of the relationship, but considering the unfortunate circumstances, breaking up with Trent and risking another potential breakdown this time is no longer an option, especially when the blame could fall on him in the process. He’s mentioned it before, reminded them of the situation that he is strapped to regrettably. So Brian finds that insinuating that all of their asses are on the line is a rather hard thing to do, even if that is what he believes. He tries again for the final time, lassoing the rope and giving it a sharp tug. Please, he mentally begs. The trip will be even more miserable if Trent for a moment realizes that no one, not a single soul, wants him to come.

“You guys do know what he’s been dealing with.” There. The venom is set, and they can walk right through the trap or around it. Their choice.

“Yeah, for five months,” Jeordie mumbles under his breath, and Brian almost wants to punch him. Almost.

John does it for him, in the arm, making Jeordie stumble and shift in his seat. To Brian, he soothes, “No, we know. Of course we do. I suppose none of us realized. It is totally fine if he joins.” Thank fuck for John.

“Yeah, man, nobody minds.” Tim’s voice is even, but the knowing look he gives before glossing over another page in his book is enough to make Brian grimace to himself.

No one expects the knock on the door so soon, and everyone but John nearly jumps at the sound. Brian heads for the door, pauses, and turns, apparently with more unfinished thoughts. “Okay then,” he starts carefully. “You guys _told_ me to invite him and you _know_ that he’s coming. Got it?” With no response, Brian goes to answer the door with more anxiety than he began with. Trent strides in, and his hesitance is apparent by the almost apologetic smile on his face.

Like walking on eggshells.

“Hey, baby.” With a gentle kiss to the side of his head, Brian wraps his arms around his boyfriend from behind and pulls him close as he surveys the room. Trent is still and stiff yet warm, deciding to wear Brian’s sweatshirt from yesterday. It is two sizes too large for him, but perhaps that is why it works for him, and why Brian suddenly can’t keep his hands off of him. Trent quietly brushes the thought aside of how much Brian’s silent gestures continue to beg for his forgiveness. The morning had been awkward, but Trent pushes that away as well, turning to the group of men clouded in smoke, books, and stone faces.

“Hey guys,” he gushes with a bashful smile as Brian nuzzles into his shoulder. John offers a small wave and welcoming smile, and a soft round of “hey, Trent” resonates back to him. “How’s it going?”

“Just chillin’,” Jeordie says, as if it isn’t obvious.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Trent smiles, “Nice” and waits. The pause is awkward yet brief while he shifts on his toes, feeling Brian grip his hips in a short, tight squeeze. “So… about this road trip thing…”

“You’re coming, right?” When John asks, he sounds hopeful, and even Tim smiles a small smile from behind his work. Jeordie smokes and remains silent.

“I mean, I think so. If it’s not completely ruining your plans…”

Another round of “nope, no, not at all” has Trent feeling probably the most comfortable for the first time in months. That is, until Jeordie abruptly stands, brushes past him, and acknowledges Brian with a flood of books and papers. “Hey man, can I get you to look at that paragraph real quick?” His eyes are bloodshot, but the quick, hard look he offers Trent is crystal clear.

Brian’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, but he instantly responds with, “Sure. Yeah. All right.” He sees Trent’s equally confused expression and mouths “thesis”. “Be right back.” One last kiss on the cheek, and he is gone, leaving Trent with more silence and discomfort than he’d planned.

“Oh,” he murmurs softly then saves it with a short laugh. “I can’t keep up with all you theologists.”

Tim snorts, which can be considered a laugh as well if Trent squints.

“Hey, don’t leave me out,” John teases and pats the space on the couch next to him.

“Of course,” Trent grins, approaching him eagerly. “As opposed to the two art majors in the room.”

John closes his sketchpad before Trent can see what he is drawing and offers him his full attention, his smile bright and warm, lighting up his chocolate eyes. “Art majors don’t have to choose if they hate academia or not. Unlike this one.” He indicates Tim with a nod. “Hi, Trent.”

“Hey, John.” He sits. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good!” John nods. “Survived finals. You?”

Trent’s face almost falls at the mention of his time lost this year, but he attempts to keep his voice as casual as he can. Keep it light. “Oh, well, I didn’t really finish. Not yet anyways. But they’re giving me a break this year…”

The realization forms to John’s face as though he’s been smacked. “Oh, right. Oh my god, of course.” Trent waves it off like dust, but the awkward silence returns. And lengthens once Tim leaves the room. “Hey, this is new!” The curiosity in John’s voice mixed with his small, soft fingers interlacing with the chain around Trent’s neck attracts his attention, and he feels the familiar weight of the medallion crucifix being lifted slightly as John pulls it from under his sweatshirt. Each second flies without even the smallest opportunity to stop him. John studies the cross for a brief moment before letting it fall gently against his chest. “Didn’t peg you as the religious type.”

Trent instinctively touches it with the tips of his fingers and begins to explain. “It’s not mine. It’s…”

John nods understandingly and rests a comforting hand on Trent’s thigh. “I see.” With a soft pat, he adds, “You know, I think it’s actually very good that you’re coming.”

Trent raises an eyebrow and offers a crooked smile. “Yeah? For who?”

“For you! For Brian especially.” That soft, easy smile returns. “I think it is a good thing, and you’ll be able to spend more time with him considering the craziness of this semester. Should be very good for you two.”

Trent doesn’t know what would be worse to talk about: his slowly deteriorating relationship with his boyfriend or the wounding memory of his family. He smiles and stays quiet.

The mood has shifted, and John’s expression changes as he lowers his voice, leans in a little. It seems as though he is searching for the right words to say, and Trent swallows, staring back at him. “You know… Trent… I never had the chance to tell you, but I was really so very sorry to hear about… about your loss…”

This time Trent’s face falls as though someone has snapped their fingers, changing his mood entirely. He frowns, eyes blank, voice wavering and timid. “Oh…” John says something else, but he hardly hears it. It all sounds muffled to him, as though he is under water with headphones over his ears, numbing all coherent thought. That familiar sensation he felt just hours ago last night returns full throttle, the deathly calm feeling of being drowned. With his temple throbbing in his ears, Trent finally feels the hot tears well in his eyes. John sees them before he can blink them away.

“Oh no. Trent. I’m so sorry I brought it up!”

Trent’s voice is thick as he stands suddenly and starts to back away. “No, I mean- thank you, I just… I’m sorry.” Before John can say another word, he finds the door, any door. “I’ll be back. Bathroom. Thanks, John.”

The door slams shut, blocking out John’s concerned expression, blocking out the light, blocking out everything else and encasing Trent in total darkness.


	3. American Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drugs, hallucinations, and panic attacks.
> 
> [Hålsingland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6efsguhMm-A)

The heaves and wheezes and sobs wrack Trent’s body so much that he folds in on himself, clutching his stomach with both arms wrapped around his sides. Abdominal pain mixes with an entirely different sort of pain, a pain of the mind, of little hammers pounding at his heart, which threatens to beat out of his chest, of links of chains tightening and tightening around his guts until he cannot stand straight. His lungs gasp for air as he struggles for common ground, fingers grasping the towel rack in the bathroom to steady himself. It is not so much of crying as it is bellowing, wounded animal sounds that never show mercy of ceasing, and he silently thanks anything out there in the universe in the back of his mind for a loud engine of this bus.

Minutes later, Trent raises his head to the mirror and pouts at the blotchy red that spreads over his cheeks, nose, and forehead. He dries his face with a paper towel, breathes in, then out, deeply, and shakily reaches for the door handle, making his way back to his seat next to Brian. Brian, of course, knows something was wrong as soon as Trent sits down, noticing his red-rimmed eyes and the slight shaking of his hands. Softly, he rests his hand over Trent’s with a small smile. Trent returns it, though it seems passed on and moves to stare out the window as the earth flashes by.

As fleeting as his smile had been, so seems Brian’s memory of it anyway. With hardly a squeeze of reassurance, he releases Trent’s hand, and they keep their distance. His boyfriend is simply background at this point both physically and in the back of his mind. At the forefront, Brian ruminates over the low droning of the engine of the bus, white noise over his many thoughts and worries, the main one being his thesis- or lack thereof. Of course it bothers him that Tim has everything figured out already, even until the beginning of the next fall semester; he has always been the more thoughtful, studious individual out of them all. One step ahead. Not that any of this is a competition- degree, career, future. Of course not.

Tim’s nose remains buried in a textbook, something to do with ancient religions and their connections with Abrahamic faiths, and he cannot really seem to decide which would be a worse way to be punished: human sacrifice, stoning, or crucifixion.

Jeordie, cheek pressed against the window, lazily blows smoke through the opening, gawking at pedestrians as they pass. Occasionally, he makes a crass comment on the differences in American girls through the states when they had just barely made it out of their own. Trent thinks he’s just saying the word ‘demographic’ to make himself sound smarter.

John drives the bus. No one notices his glance in the rearview mirror, studying Trent’s red eyes and blotchy nose. Not even Trent.

Trent is mesmerized and a bit overwhelmed.

The flashing lights almost seem to vibrate behind his eyes, and the pounding bass throbs in his temples. It reminds him of that party, and for a brief, blurred moment, he suddenly wishes he was anywhere but in this club just now. Like every other underground hangout, his nose catches just a hint of what reeks like someone’s moldy basement, heavily overpowered by cigarette smoke, sweat, and perhaps even sex. Trent decides he wouldn’t even be surprised if he accidentally walked in on a quickie in the bathroom. The graffiti on the walls in there had even looked sticky.

He stays close to Brian as they all descend the stairs into the thick of it and closer still while John leads the way. Fingers interlaced with his, Trent realizes it is the most intimate they have been for the entire week. He decides not to dwell on that fact and speaks up.

“Hey, John, I suppose you and Tim have been here before?”

That was a stupid question, he silently chastises himself. As the minutes pass and time wears on slowly, Trent begins to feel more and more out of place, out of step with the rest of them. He cannot remember the last time he actually set foot in a club, he had barely touched drugs and alcohol ever since what happened five months ago, and while it had been difficult to explain to Brian why he did not want him to do it around him, he knows it is practically second nature to him and the others. Well, of course, except for John, who has basically been straight edge since he’d known him. If John is comfortable with everything, then he should be too. No use making a fuss over nothing. Trent forces the thoughts down and gives Brian’s hand an extra quick squeeze. Brian’s gaze remains ahead.

“Holy shit! John!”

Even against the gaggle of the crowd of people, they all hear the booming voice, and John rushes to meet its owner with open arms and a wide smile. The man, who pulls John into a tight embrace, comes off like something of a Satanic nightmare despite his ecstatic grin and thunderous, contagious laugh. He even looks like a young replica of Anton LeVay with his shaved head and pointed beard. Trent watches them reunite and happily talk with just a twinge of jealousy. No one ever feels uncomfortable around John. The latter finally indicates his party to the man.

“These are my friends. Tim, Brian, Jeordie, Trent: meet Stephen. Good friend since we were kids.”

Stephen claps John on the back and acknowledges them with that same grin. “Tim, Brian, Jeordie…” he recounts and then pauses as he rests eyes on Trent. “…Trent?” He nods. “Awesome! I’m sure John here failed to mention the little story on how we met.”

John laughs somewhat nervously as Stephen pulls him in again with an arm around his shoulders. “Long story,” he briefs. “A while ago, too. Back when I had blue hair.”

“Blue hair?” Trent inquires with a small smile.

Stephen’s booming laughter erupts through the throng. “I never let it go and never let him forget it.” He stops for a moment and rummages through his pockets, pulling out a small container that almost looks like a fancy cigarette case. Inside are small, white capsules. “Perfect timing, you all showing up by the way. A few others and I just took these five minutes ago. Haven’t even started coming up yet.”

Jeordie is the first to reach for one. “Ohh shit.”

Trent starts and looks from the case of E to his boyfriend, watching as he casually takes one as well. Stephen’s voice breaks through his running thoughts. “Of course, everyone can take one except this one right here.” He indicates John by ruffling his hair teasingly. “Do you guys want to take it now or do you prefer to settle in first? Grab a few drinks?”

Jeordie pipes up from the background, “Fuck it. Let’s just take ‘em now.”

Instantly, Trent sees the red flag and jumps to attention. He pulls Brian aside and rests a gentle hand on his arm. He hopes the gesture alone will wordlessly tell him he does not care if he wants to participate but… “I think I might need to find my footing first, babe,” he decides, although he cannot really believe he is actually considering it.

“Yeah, of course,” Brian says in understanding. In a softer voice, he adds, “And you know you don’t have to take them. Especially if you’re feeling unsure. I’ll wait for you if you do decide on it.”

“No, no, no,” Trent attempts to intervene. “That’s okay, you don’t have to. I just need a moment to ground myself first.”

“Ready?” Stephen calls over.

“Actually,” Brian turns, “I’m going to wait with Trent.”

Trent can practically feel the knowing glances as soon as he says it.

“Uh… well, we can’t all take them at different times,” Jeordie says, and they all catch the annoyance in his voice whether he is trying to hide it or not. “That would be two different trips.”

Before the next wave of awkward silence slams into him, Trent finds himself speaking up. “You know what? It’s fine. I can take it now.”

Brian sounds concerned. “You really don’t have to, babe.”

“I promise, I’m fine,” he returns with a smile.

“Are you sure?”

The smile fades, and Trent huffs once before answering, “Yes, Jeordie, I’m sure.” He ignores the roll of the eyes and raising the hands in defense and focuses on the little pill Stephen offers him. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Ease yourself into it. Stay hydrated.” Stephen winks.

“Ready?” Brian’s eyes look soft and encouraging as they gaze into his own, and Trent’s smile remains, suddenly not feeling so forced. He nods.

The warm, fuzzy feelings Trent had expected come like a flood of relief. He breathes in, nestled between John and Brian in a booth, and as he breathes out through his mouth, the warmth expands, the only thing speeding up steadily as everything else around him slows and speeds, slows and speeds, back and forth. To his right, John, Tim, and Stephen converse gaily, of what, he does not know, nor does he care. He only hears them. Jeordie remains a little far off, brazenly sucking face with some girl who is most definitely not his girlfriend. Trent almost feels bad for her. Almost. Brian sits at his left, languid and loose, shrugging himself down gradually into his seat, barely aware of him, of everything else. Trent is aware of him, though. He is aware of the soft breaths he lets out, aware of John’s lilting, even voice, of the wet sounds Jeordie makes with his mouth. He is attentive, curious, repulsed, and back to the former. Too many emotions, like pebbles, unable to be sorted out.

“Coming up yet?”

When Trent turns, Brian flashes him a crooked smile, but it seems slow yet not as deliberate, like the whole world including his smile is frozen, dragged in slow motion. He returns a lazy grin.

“Mhmm…”

He doesn’t think he’s falling until he feels his back hit someone else, his cheek coming to rest against their shoulder as a supporting, tattooed arm wraps around him securely. John’s voice is so close, breath warm, too hot against his ear, and yet it echoes, sounding still so far away. “Hmm…” he chuckles. “Someone must be in it already, huh?”

Trent doesn’t know if he answers or not. Perhaps a soft, pleased hum and nothing else until John or Brian speaks. Brian is smiling. John speaks. “Let’s get you out on the floor then.”

If Trent had been the tiniest bit more sober, then he would have scoffed at the appalling EDM that blasts through the speakers. But the beat and pounding step seems to take a sledgehammer straight to his brain and his chest, not to kill him but to mix up his mind and allow himself to take John’s hand and be dragged out with the rest of warm, sweaty bodies that throb and thrust against one another in an almost erotic display of sociality. Amidst the strobe, John, completely lucid, looks like a cryptid in the dark, luring him out when they both begin to dance in time with the music. Trent feels hands grasp his hips and pull him back into the new, fresh embrace of his boyfriend. Brian’s breath is hotter than John’s had been, wafting against his cheek and jaw, and when Trent finally turns to face him, he seems taller, towering over him ominously as if he could envelope him with his long arms alone and encompass him in darkness with only the strobe lights as a discombobulating guide.

The hand that wraps itself at the back of Trent’s neck is cold to the touch and refreshing in the sweltering heat, and the other remains clutching his hip, sure to leave marks. Trent longs to match that possessiveness. His blood bubbles in his veins as both of his hands move up to rest against Brian’s cheeks, drawing him down lower towards his own face, breaths mingling, noses mashing together in a sudden desperation to meld and mold together as one. Even when Trent pulls back to kiss him, he swears that the flesh of his palms fuse to his hollow cheeks. He lets it. He wants it. The world slows once again, and it is just the two of them. Breath slows, gets heavier, mixes, tastes sweeter on the tongue. Trent drinks him in, and he wonders why, in the back of his mind, why he ever stopped in the first place; this is the only thing he would rather do for the rest of his fucking life.

“I love you guys…”

Jeordie’s voice sounds way too close; Trent hardly recognizes it and almost jumps at the audible intrusion. It doesn’t matter, he smiles. Jeordie loves them. Jeordie loves him too. It doesn’t matter.

“You guys are like my family!”

Why is he yelling? Why is it too loud? Trent shrinks back from Brian at the final word, feels like a gunshot to his head, the sharp sting in his eardrums, the _trigger_ to the bursting bubble of slow calm. Trent’s breath hitches once, and he drops his hands.

“You guys are like my real, actual family!”

Someone snaps their fingers in his mind, and Trent backs away, shrugs Brian’s hands off of him, and starts to turn, to run. He doesn’t hear his name being called after him; he hears nothing but the roar of the mob, the buzz and thud of the noise they call music. Everything closes in. Like Brian’s hands, Trent feels others running over every inch of his body, violating him in anything more than the carnal moment he shared with his boyfriend just seconds before. He stops, closes his eyes tight, and wills them away. Only one remains, gripping his wrist and turning him around to stare up into the mildly confused and friendly face of Stephen, though it does not remain present and normal for long. Trent watches it elongate, expand, and contract, nothing permanent.

He shakes his head. “What?” Did he scream it?

“I just asked if you were all right.” The friendly, gentle smile stays, but Trent swallows down the hard lump in his throat.

His voice breaks slightly as he says accusingly, “They were touching me. Someone… someone was…”

“Oh no, no, no! I’m sure they weren’t.” Trent wishes Stephen would stop looking at him like that. “You want to come meet some of my friends?”

Trent knows if he says anymore, he’ll breakdown. It’s inevitable; he feels the heaviness on his face sagging down while he tries in vain not to cry in front of this complete yet seemingly concerned stranger. Knowing this, he still hears his quivering voice with its desperate attempts to stay even. “Um…” he mumbles and realizes his plan has backfired. “No… thanks, Stephen. I…” Trent doesn’t see him anymore. Instead he’s walking straight out of the club and down the dark corridors towards a quiet place where he can be alone. Yes, alone and away from all these fucking hands grabbing at him, trying to get him to dance, score a quickie, wondering if he is all right. He’s _fine_ , damn it! “Stop it!” he growls under his breath through grit teeth, voice thick and nasally. “Stop… fuck!” Wrenching at fistfuls of his hair, Trent picks up the pace, mindlessly flailing his arms as he goes. “Ngah!”

The door to the bathroom slams shut behind him, and Trent rushes to the sink, wrinkling his nose at the stench of raw sewage and un-flushed toilets. He wishes the cold water to his face would snap him out of it instantly, but it only creates a disorienting wave around him, all a blur. The only present, conscious thing to him when he glances up shakily is his reflection, pale in comparison to the flickering lights.

Even to the sight of a much paler young man behind him with short, blonde hair. Trent gasps loudly, and then the lights go out. In that split second, they come back on, and Trent stumbles back with a short cry at finding no one behind him, no one but the empty stalls. A frightened sob bursts from the back of his throat. He doesn’t want to think it, but he knows that face despite having not been able to look at it for over five months. And he swears he saw something protruding from his mouth.

Trent runs, dashes from the bathroom with a sharp scream, lungs burning, breaths seizing and tensing as though everything inside of him could burst into flame.


	4. The House the Witnesses Built Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this a bad omen.
> 
> [The House That Hårga Built](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kQiKEeDJ7r4)

Trent wakes with a start and finds himself lying on his side. His head rests in someone’s lap, and Trent catches a whiff of Brian’s cologne as he nuzzles his cheek deeper into his thigh. A hand lands gently at the top of his head, and he feels tender caresses from the fingers stroking through his hair. Trent whimpers softly as he tenses, stretching tired muscles and mumbles in question concerning how long he had been asleep.

“For the rest of the night and into the afternoon,” Brian answers back with a small yawn himself. “How you feeling?”

“Like death warmed over,” Trent grumbles and that is that. He sits up, and Brian chuckles at his bed head. “Did it take you guys long to find me? I don’t know where I ran off to. I apologize for already causing trouble.”

Brian starts and flashes him a bewildered expression. “What are you talking about?”

“After we danced?” Trent reminds him as he stretches his arms and massages his temples. “I ran into the bathroom, remember?”

“I honestly don’t,” Brian says with a blank expression. “I didn’t dance last night. Hung back with Tim and Jeordie most of that time.” He crosses his arms and remains silent for a small moment and then, “You danced, though. With John.”

Trent knows that tone; Brian is both inquiring and resigned as if he is searching for something from Trent that he expects to have happened, and all Trent can sense approaching is another miserable argument. He remains firm, though and combats such an inquiry with what he knows. What he thinks he knows anyway. “No, we danced,” he states, resuming the defensive position of crossed arms. “The three of us together at least. John brought me out but you came along eventually. You were just as high as I was.”

Brian raises his hands, retorting Trent’s jab with, “Hey, I’m not the one who stopped taking molly. You gained a low tolerance, and when you were in it, you were _in it_. Can’t remember everything.”

“What are you implying?” That certainly doesn’t sound like a question but rather an accusation for an accusation, and like Trent, Brian does not wish this conversation to resort to a fight.

With a slightly exasperated sigh that Trent very much resents, Brian huffs, “Nothing, babe. It’s fine. Forget I said anything at all, okay?”

That is obviously impossible, Trent almost says aloud but decides against it. Again, he doesn’t want to start another fight, but there is something about the way Brian casually slumps deeper in his seat, headphones in his ears, and eyes closed that irks him incessantly, as if he should be more invested in what he said instead of taking words back. What had started as a steady thumping in his chest turns into a warm flush in his cheeks and an ache in his stomach. Abruptly, Trent gets up from his seat nearly thanking the universe that his phone buzzes just now, thus giving him a good enough reason to do so. The text he receives from Robin almost makes him smile.

**Happy birthday fucker! Go clubbing and get your dick sucked in a back-alley bathroom**

Trent finally smiles, a real, genuine smile for the first time since they left. He doubts though, that Brian would actually consider being with him during the length of their trip. He would most likely receive a comment on how random his sudden interest was considering his abstention from anything remotely sexual in the past year. Trent frowns as his thoughts revert back to Brian and yet another issue he has. He certainly does not wish to spend the remainder of this road trip brooding over this relationship that constantly seems to slip further and further away from his grasp. With a soft sigh, he walks to the door of the bus and tumbles down the steps to finish his conversation with Robin in peace. Perhaps he should call him, gain some leverage in his feelings. Robin would tell him they were valid. Before he manages to dial his number however, someone else tries to get back on the bus.

“Hey there, sleepy-head,” John smiles at him. He almost looks somewhat ethereal under the light of the morning sun. “Have a good trip last night?” Trent wishes his current anxieties would allow him to laugh with him. John is in too much of a good mood, and all the time that it’s astounding. He feels a gentle squeeze on his bicep from John’s tiny hand as the latter begins to make his way up the steps. “Hey, is it your birthday today?”

Assuming he had looked over his shoulder at the text, Trent nods with a shy smile.

“Happy birthday!”

The smile grows wider, and Trent feels himself redden. “Thanks, John.”

Nodding towards the inside of the bus and indicating the others, John inquires, “Should we do something? Let’s make a day of it! We can postpone everything else for a day-”

“No, no, no,” Trent hastily intervenes. “No, it’s fine. Really. I’m honestly just happy to be out here with all of you exploring the wide open spaces.” He opens his arms at the last bit and refuses to acknowledge how goofy he looks just now despite John’s soft chuckle. “Besides, last night was…” He pauses abruptly, searching for the right word. Last night was hardly what he would call a celebration. Last night was horrible and triggering. Last night sucked. “…something.”

He feels eyes on him. John is searching his face evenly, his smile never fading but seemingly passed on. It’s understanding. “Has he…”

Oh. Brian. Has Brian done anything to celebrate.

Trent offers a bland smile and hopes it looks anything but. “Not yet.”

Brian says nothing remotely similar to wishing Trent a happy birthday or telling him how happy he is that they are still together, that they made it this far. Trent assumes that the latter is a selfish thing to wish for; he’s already trapped him in the corner, he thinks glumly. No use beating a dead horse. Brian hardly says anything in fact. He spends the rest of the drive in total silence, earbuds in his ears, eyes half-shut as if he is just about to nod off or at least pretending he is so his ever doting boyfriend won’t bother him. Trent decides he won’t and resumes his seat further to the front of the bus, away from the scathing reminder.

At this point, Trent wishes for the eventful, an accident, a scene on the side of the barren road that stretches on for miles and miles. He wishes for anything to happen instead of sitting slouched in a stifling bus, begging for their destination to round the corner in the next few seconds. Another part of him almost dreads where they are headed, wondering why to God he made such a fuss about coming in the first place. He certainly isn’t a theologist like most of them but of course Tim decides that the place to gather information for histhesis first is a religious commune, a mixture of a Pentecostal and a Mennonite; in other words, a cult, Jeordie had joked before Tim had then quieted him to explain further. They are a mixture of many Christian denominational traditions but they only commune during the three major months of the summer for their long revered and observed feast of the saints. And in that time is a traditional celebration of conversion. Tim has studied the ever increasing numbers of new members, and since this is his trip for his thesis, obviously this particular group has piqued his interest.

Despite the celebrations, Trent doubts it will be much of a vacation.

As the yawning road continues on and on, rushing by in a bit of a blur before his eyes, he realizes just how far from home he is. Or the place that he generally calls his home, the place where he lives. As Tim drives, time moves on, large buildings appear in scarcity, the land seems more flat and desolately expansive. The last one Trent has seen, deemed remote civilization, is an old, fifties-looking gas station. They had stopped there, refueled, and Trent had wondered if Captain Spaulding would emerge from the minuscule convenience store to blast off each of their heads with a shot-gun. _And most of all fuck you!_ He had almost laughed. Almost.

They board the bus again, and the trip moves forward as dully as it began. Trent remains at the front with Tim, but the latter does not make small talk with him, and Trent doesn’t expect him to. He never really had a strong connection with him. It has always been John.

With his cheek pressed against the windowsill, Trent gazes mindlessly at the flatlands, occasionally clutching his crucifix, perhaps hoping to find some good connection with where they are going. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops fiddling and tucks the medallion under his shirt, sitting up straighter and looking over his shoulder. John is in a few seats back and diagonal from him scribbling and sketching busily without pause and despite the random bump and jolt from the road. As if feeling eyes on him, he slowly raises his head and smiles when he realizes it is Trent. The smile is sweet and genuine, and just seeing it makes Trent instantly feel better. As best as he can feel anyway. The jolt and stall from the bus immediately interrupts everyone’s peace, though.

Trent hears a high pitched screech as the vehicle suddenly halts in place and grips his seat to keep from falling forward. Tim curses shortly in front of him and maneuvers with the brakes in eventual frustration. He curses again, but the bus stays put, and anyone inside can already tell what the dreaded hissing noise is and where it’s coming from.

“Anyone else feel like this is a bad omen?” Jeordie jokes while Tim pops the hood, hoping to make light-hearted of the situation. Hardly anyone finds it funny, but John grins softly at his expense.

“What’s the damage, Tim?” Brian interjects, looking disheveled and mildly annoyed.

“I mean, I don’t know if the engine is just overheating or if it’s a faulty battery.” Under his breath, Tim mutters, “I’m not a goddamn mechanic.” To the rest of them and after closing up, he says, “Either way, it’s not going anywhere.”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Nothing I can do, Brian.”

Trent smoothly cuts in. “Okay, okay, so a minor setback. How close are we to the commune?”

Tim is on his phone, and for a moment, Trent wonders if he is willfully ignoring him. This isn’t the time for sarcasm and pettiness. “A few miles up the road actually. And if we cut across the grasslands, we would probably make it there sooner. I don’t know, I would like to cut our time down a bit.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Trent says, “Perfect. A little exercise never hurt anyone, right? And I’m sure we were all tired of sitting in a bus for hours. Plus, I could stretch my legs.” John nods encouragingly. Trent looks to Brian next, who closes his eyes and gives him a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, then let’s grab our packs, guys, and head out,” John says, climbing the steps to the bus. “I know I’ll sleep like the dead tonight.”

“Uh, am I going to find ticks on my person once we get out of this?” Jeordie tramples over the tall grass, shouldering his backpack while they all struggle to keep up with Tim.

“Well, seen as how this is one of the most typical spots for them to be in,” Tim huffs out, “most likely.” He receives a long, irritated sigh in response.

“Yeah, we got a tick problem in a few states,” John chuckles, marching past Jeordie.

“No shit, dude. An uncle of mine contracted Lyme, and believe me, it wasn’t worth the pleasant Sunday picnic. He’s fucked. Ever come across a tick nest in the woods? Easily mistakable for deer shit. Gotta burn the fuckers.”

Trent hardly listens. Just the mention of the deplorable members of the arachnid family has him shuddering, and he instinctively scratches his leg before moving on. A playful elbow-jab at his ribs brings him back to the present, and he catches John’s wink. “Hey, I’ll check your body for ticks if you check mine.” Trent grins widely and shoves John to the side.

“Hey, very quick, though.”

Trent feels the small, folded up piece of paper slide into his palm, and he glances at John quizzically before opening it. “Happy birthday” he hears. He sucks in a soft breath at what he sees.

It is his very likeness, captured beautifully from a loving eye. Down to the last dark tendril of hair, Trent finds himself looking in a mirror almost. The nose is pronounced but elegant, the lips puckered slightly in a soft pout, the cupid’s bow sharp and prominent. His eyes stare back at him, and Trent is lost in their forest. To adorn him is his brother’s crucifix, draped loosely around his neck.

“Oh my gosh…” he breathes. “John!”

To his surprise, John blushes. “It’s just something I do for friends and their birthdays.” He pauses, looks concerned. “Maybe it’s not appropriate?” Trent quickly saves him.

“Oh my god, not at all! It’s wonderful, Jesus. I love it. Thank you so much!”

John shrugs, the soft, signature smile staying. “Anyway. Just between us.”

“Yeah, well-” Trent looks a bit rueful as he studies the intricate sketch a bit more closely. “Don’t worry. Brian forgot.” Immediately he regrets his words. John stops in his tracks and stares at Trent dead in the eye, his expression a mixture of pity and surprise. Then he looks to Brian far ahead of them both. Hastily, Trent reassures him, “Or… I forgot to remind him. You know. It doesn’t matter. Seriously, thank you so much for this, John. It’s beautiful.” He folds the drawing back up and stuffs it into his pocket, pointedly ignoring his companion’s silence as they continue walking through the tall grass.

“Hey!” Tim calls back. “We’re here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm guessing if you made it this far, you're doing pretty well so good job! Leave a kudo and comment if you enjoyed. If you didn't, well, the back button is free and you knew what you were walking into anyway when you read the tags. I mean, you did read the tags right? Right? Bueller?  
> Recommend this to a fellow horror fanatic if you'd like and as always, thank you for your incredible support. Much love. <3  
> Edit:  
> Hi there. A lot has happened since I wrote these. One person portrayed in these stories has been outted as an abuser.   
> I do not condone. Please keep that in mind when you read and know that the personality portrayed is not a direct representation of the actual personality.   
> Thank you.


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